


just the tip

by weefaol



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, F/M, Flirting, Latex Gloves, Pain, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Smut, Tattoo Artist Jensen Ackles, Tattoos, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 18:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15935771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weefaol/pseuds/weefaol
Summary: "You're a tough girl. Gonna do just fine."It's hard not to get wet and desperate when the tip of Jensen Ackles' tattoo needle rubs under your skin.





	just the tip

It started with a pinprick.

Sixteen and the boy at the school desk behind her scratched a compass needle along the back of her neck. She flinched. But instead of scolding him, she swelled.

Twenty-one and her first piercing, a tongue ring — smooth metal in her mouth, abscessing against wet muscle. The tender swelling lasted days, but not long enough. She’d pushed and prodded the stud with her tongue, laving over its grooves, nudging it deeper, _bigger_ , to stretch the hole. She relished the ache.

Twenty-eight and primed for pain. She’d been rendered immobile in dental chairs while the hygienist stuck latex-gloved fingers in her mouth. Did everything she could not to snap her jaws shut — to suck and moan.

“Open wide,” the dentist had said, needle nearing. “This will sting a little.”

The long barb of the syringe skittered past her lips, the smell of metal and barbiturate filling her head dizzy. It’s a 3-2-1 and then _ahhh… just there_ — the puncture of gums, the penetrating prick and tissue slide, silk muscles milking the point inside. _Deeper_. Buried in her flesh, then the slow push of the injector; beautiful poison flooding her insides, and it’s ecstasy. Until the numbness sets in. Spreads and dullens.

Thirty-two and her first tattoo.

Her secret wish? Make it hurt. Make it ache.

Etch and claw under skin with silk-black ink.

Feel her quake and quiver.

She wants it on the inside.

The appointment’s at two, but she arrives twenty minutes early to centre herself. To sink down into smooth leather on waiting room couches, squirming at the squeak and rub against bare legs. There’s a woman with stretchers in her ears and a stud through her lip sitting opposite, thumbing through a tattoo art catalogue, dreaming up her next piece as she waits, no doubt. She wishes she could be that impulsive — that she could act on every whim when neutrons spark like firecrackers.

But she’s not that kind of girl.

Never has been. No way.

She’s a planner. Methodical. Books appointments months in advance and crosses little Xs on her work calendar to mark the time. With every X, she gets more and more antsy — loses herself in fidgety anticipation, in being patient, holding back. Denying herself until, at last, the day arrives when she gets to indulge, _partake_. Today, today.

The woman catches her eye and winks. She blushes, nervous.

As she waits, the behind-curtain buzz of a tattoo needle puts her on edge. She scratches at the inside of her wrists with cropped fingernails, making marks that fade from pink to milk-white in minutes. There are smells of numbing cream and burning flesh as she closes her eyes, knee bouncing like she’s five years old. She wishes she wasn’t so _nervous_. But it’s her first tattoo and she has no clue what to expect.

“Kathryn?”

She opens her eyes and _oh god_. Gazes up at the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen — over six feet tall, cropped hair, blazing green eyes, two colourful tattoo sleeves — who's staring at her with a smile that could kill the world.

He extends a hand. “I’m Jensen. Nice to put a face to all the emails.”

"Oh, right," she stammers, remembering with horror all the nerdy alterations she'd sent him about her tattoo design. She stands and grabs his hand, strong and firm as it squeezes around her own. “H-hi.”

“Hi," he smiles, a hopeful glint in his eye. "All set?”

She nods, feeling the blood rush to her head. It makes her dizzy and stumble-footed.

“Whoa, easy.” He places an arm on her back to steady her.

“Sorry, just got up too fast.”

He winks. "Don't faint on me just yet, kay? Come with me.”

She blushes under his steely gaze and follows him behind the curtain.

His studio is clinical, yet homey somehow. There are a few potted succulents on the shelves amongst other trinkets and knick-knacks — golden gilded skulls and bronze statue bookends. There’s art on the walls and, as she tip-toes around, she points one of them out: a beautiful phoenix rising with gilded wings and licking flames.

“Did you draw that?” she asks, cursing the quiver in her voice.

"I did all of ‘em," he chuckles. "Hey, c'mere.” He pats the seat of the reclining chair.

“Ohh,” she warbles. “Right.” The black leather skids against her legs as she slides up. She’s nervous — heart beating, palms sweating, the whole nine yards.

Jensen pulls up a chair, thumbing through his sketchbook. “So, I’ve been working on your mock-up. Think I finally got it how I want it. Er, how does this look?” He glides his fingers over the ink-lined paper, flattens out a pencil sketch and holds it up so she can see it. “I made the stars a bit bigger, like you wanted. Added a little crescent moon if that’s cool.”

It’s the most beautiful line drawing she’s ever seen. But even if it were wobbly and shaky and scribbled outside the lines, she would still murmur a “Yes, I love it,” because those green eyes sparkle like precious gemstones. Jensen's one of those guys that makes women forget the word _no_ exists.

“Good,” he says, flashing a killer smile. “I’ll transfer it to your thigh now, if you’re ready to get started.”

She nods. Manages a smile back. She’s been waiting for this moment for months. Just the thought of it has been keeping her up at night. Sometimes, when she imagines it, she'll rub at herself under the covers, or simply rut against the mattress, craving the ache — the localized pleasure-pain. Without delay, she pulls at her jean shorts, yanking them up until they’re all bunched at her upper thighs.

“Actually, if you’re comfortable, I think it's best if you take those off. They’ll just get in the way.”

“Oh,” she says, blushing. “Sure.”

As she unbuttons her jeans, she’s struck with the horrifying realization that she doesn’t remember which pair of underwear she’d slipped on that morning. It could be anything — period panties, stretched out jokey ones with Spongebob on them, a cherry red thong, _oh god_. She breathes a sigh of relief when she unzips to discover a perfectly acceptable (even _cute_ ) pair of white panties with a little pink bow at the top.

 _Thank god_.

She fumbles out of her jean shorts and shimmies awkwardly on the chair until she's free, tossing them onto a chair in the corner.

Jensen gets laser-focused and intense now. Rolls his chair over and smooths his hand on her creamy skin, spreading numbing salve or something. He takes a minute to line up the stencil before pressing it to her thigh, smoothing out the edges and air bubbles. Peels the adhesive away, leaving wet stencil on skin.

“Beautiful…” he says, admiring his own handiwork. Glances up at her. “How’s it look from up there?”

“Good,” she says, head-spinning at how close his face is to her most intimate parts. “I love it already.”

Jensen grins. “Best part hasn’t even started yet.” He winks, sending a rush through her body. Somehow, she feels calm, _at ease_ , with Jensen. Like she trusts him. Like she wants him to get under her skin.

Soon, he will be.

He spends a little time warming up his instruments, disinfecting and polishing. Squeezes out jet-black ink dollops onto a tray, readies his tool chest. Scoots his chair close again.

“We’re just gonna do the line work today,” he says, tugging a pair of black latex gloves out of a box. Pulls them over his fingers, snapping them at the wrist like he’s about to get inside, examine her. She shivers, a swell of heat rushing between her legs. She hopes it doesn’t leave a love stain for him to see.

“This your first time?” he asks, soothing as he readies the needle.

“Yeah. Had a couple piercings though.”

“I prefer tattoos.” He shrugs his art-adorned arms. “Shocking, I know.”

She smiles, nervous. “What is it about tattoos?”

"I like the way they feel. How the body responds to such prolonged, intentional pain. With piercings, it’s all about the puncture, the focal point, the pinprick. It’s over before you know it. But tattoos are about how you handle the chronic _ache_. It’s a test of sheer will. Pushes you to your limits.”

She swallows, gets hot under the collar at the reverent way he talks about skin etchings. “Is — is it gonna hurt?”

"Everyone responds to pain differently.” He leans in, murmurs deep, “But yeah, sweetheart, it’s gonna fuckin’ hurt.”

Her heart surges as he clicks on the tattoo needle, the loud buzz-drone making her head spin. If she reaches out to him… if she just whispers ' _stop'_ right now, it’ll all be over. She could leave here without the thing ever touching her skin.

But one flash of Jensen’s grin has got her primed and ready.

“You’re a tough girl,” he purrs. Gives her pen-drawn thigh a squeeze then smacks it playfully. “Gonna do just fine.”

_Bzzzz._

She hitches a breath as he skates a thumb over her inner thigh. Then, the agonizing press of the pen at the edge of his sketch. It burns and it stings and she jerks her leg away, the prick skidding on her skin like a rock skips on a pond. “ _Ah_ , sorry.”

“It’s okay," he soothes. Cocks his head. "Happens a lot when the tip goes in.”

She giggles, letting out a bit of tension. Puts her leg back into place, flinching only slightly at his renewed touch.

“You good?”

_You’re a tough girl. Gonna do just fine._

“Yeah,” she nods, resolute. She’s gonna see this through if only to avoid the look of disappointment on Jensen’s face. “Let me have it.”

He winks again before lowering the needle.

It’s an assault, like a series of sharp blade stabs, over and over. The pain shoots through her like pinpricks, singeing every nerve as the hot tip ruts back and forth along the same spot. She squirms and clenches and breathes deep, anything to distract from the intense burning, the press of thick fingers on her skin.

“Try to relax,” coos Jensen, hushing her quiet. “Take a deep breath.”

She inhales, holds it, then breathes it out. Every nerve-ending is on fire as she shudders in a rush. It’s not working.

“Again,” he coaches, breathing with her as his hand massages along her thigh.

A few more deep breaths and she can feel herself relax. Can feel the slow creep of endorphins — the dopamine — seeping into her bloodstream.

“Good girl,” he purrs, working the pen along the lines, scratching and smoothing at her skin. Marking it. Marking _her_.

_Bzz. Bzz. Bzzzz._

After awhile the pain gives way to dull prickling — a needle-creep at her flesh. It’s a warm, intense pressure that makes her skin shiver. She hums, keening when he rubs the tip over the crescent moon shape. She blushes. He notices.

“You like that?”

There’s twinkling mischief in his eyes. He lets out his own held breath of air at her reaction and she watches in longing as his gaze travels along the pink flush of her throat, down the rose-blush of her breasts. She watches him, watching her. _Enjoying_ her. Marvels at the soft flutter of his lashes, the tooth-bite of bottom lip. And, _god damn_ , those lips were meant for so many nicer things than kissing.

“Euphoria,” he continues, flashing that deadly half-smile. Because he _knows_. Knows exactly what she’s feeling — how the persistent _rub-rub-rut_ is hypnotic; flesh burning, time slowing to a standstill. Because nothing matters outside of this. The prick of the needle, the drone of electric current and his hands, fingers pressing, _kneading_ _,_ like a hum that sinks into your skin.

She’s in a trance — hypnotized by pleasure-pain, endorphins in her veins. Blushes when her walls begin to swell, when the persistent pulse between her legs gives way to a rush of warm want.

_Oh god, it’s good._

_Rub-rub-rut. Rub-rub-rut.  
_

She can _smell_ herself. The cunt musk, honey-sweet perfume. There’s no way Jensen can’t smell her too. And she can’t help herself, the way her body reacts — the way she ever-so-slightly spreads her thighs, acutely aware of the achy hole between them, craving to be filled. Desire gushes from her insides, colouring a damp patch on her panties and _god_ , the room reeks like good sex.

For a brief instant, Jensen’s eyes flit from the tip of his needle to the space between her legs. He cracks a knowing half-smile as he watches the little wet patch darken the fabric of her panties. He keeps going, rutting the needle along her flesh. Utters a low, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. That happens to some people. Just means you like it...”

He leans down and blows a bit of cool air over her skin where it burns the most. She lets out a soft moan, thighs quivering, cheeks blushing pink. Squirms in her seat, craving a deeper thrust and relief from the needy insistence of her cunt. Jensen stills her by gripping her opposite leg in his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Hold still now,” he hums, rubbing his thumb along her inner-thigh, making her legs shake.

Because all she wants is for his hand to slide higher, for his thumb to slip under the fabric and push just inside her. She’s waiting. She’s willing. She _wants_.

“Easy,” he coos, rubbing thumb-circles just inches from where she wants him. “Almost there, honey.”

“Please,” she moans, desperation seeping out of her insides. “ _Please_.” Her pussy pulses at the precision of the needle, catching like teeth over skin. Time distorts. It disconnects. The vibrations meld with the low rumble of Jensen’s voice until she can’t tell what sounds are real anymore — _you love it, don't you?_ _that’s my girl..._ _gonna come for me, baby?_

Her panties are soaked now, her mouth spilling high-pitched moans and sex noises. It builds and builds, him rubbing the same spot, _over and over_ , rendering her helpless. And he doesn’t let up — scratching and circling and making her thighs shake until she feels the ghost of a thumb-press over her clit and… and…

she _comes_ , twitching and keening into his touch until she can’t take anymore. Lets herself tremble on the chair.

In a minute, the burn of the needle stops. The electricity cuts. The room is silent save for her ragged breaths, trying to catch up with her brain. Trying to process what had just happened.

“All done,” grins Jensen, rubbing a pretty-smelling ointment over the freshly inked lines. “What do you think?”

She blinks, dazed. Stares down at his creation with reverence. It's the most beautiful tattoo she’s ever seen. Just... _perfect_.

“I - I love it,” she says, cheeks flushed pink. She lust-gazes into those emerald green eyes, runs her sated tongue along her lip. “Thank you.”

“Come back in a few weeks for the shading,” he smiles, fluttering those gorgeous eyelashes. Presses a clean white bandage to her thigh like she’s the most tender thing in the world. Sends her on her merry way.

All day long, she leaves the bandage on. And although she can’t see it, she can feel the ache of his beautiful ink stain settling just under her skin.

Marked by him, forever.

**Author's Note:**

> find more of my wolfy tales on [tumblr](http://weefaol.tumblr.com/) ❤︎


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